


arvid gets to be happy, or, A Swing Kids College AU

by r_foudroye



Category: Swing Kids (1993)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gratuitous use of punctuation, M/M, also this is not mentioned but, and also dona dona has arvid vibes, arvid has a succulent named django this is very important, arvid listens to the marx sisters because I Said So, arvid-centered bc i Love Him, i'm sorry uh, they get to be happy, this is not a good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27405127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_foudroye/pseuds/r_foudroye
Summary: arvid finally gets to be happya swing kids modern AU, centered around arvid because i love him
Relationships: Thomas Berger/Peter Müller, peter müller/arvid, thomas berger/arvid
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	arvid gets to be happy, or, A Swing Kids College AU

**Author's Note:**

> so! this is A Fic!!!  
> i don't really know what i'm doing; this is one of the first fics i've ever written
> 
> also some Important Deets-  
> Arvid- music major, gender studies minor ( a good boy all around)  
> Thomas- (art?) history major but jock, social justice minor (used to be nasty but figured out how to be decent junior year of high school, now is chill)  
> Peter- music major, history minor (always liked music, liked its power to move crowds so studied history)

Now, you wouldn’t expect a swing band to be popular at a university in the middle of nowhere, Germany, but life can be surprising like that sometimes.  
And life had unleashed a lot of surprises on Nowheresville University, Nowheresville, Germany throughout the years. The more recent happenings could be easily blamed on three great surprises-

The first had been when a young man named Thomas walked into NUNI. Those who had known him in his youth whispered about his past. Those same people were shocked when Thomas strode confidently into a Social Justice lecture. 

The second had been when another young man- Peter, the students would later learn- sauntered into an advanced music class and proceeded to make himself at home as if he’d been born and raised in the Instrument Room.  
He later got funding for a band that played music that was long out of style, but he’d stopped being as surprising at that point. 

The third had been when yet another young man danced the lindy hop with his leather satchel in hand all the way to the entrance, where he promptly activated the metal detector.  
He whipped off his prosthetic leg one-handed, and did a one-legged Charleston through the open doors.  
This young man is named Arvid.

And somehow, a fourth, and perhaps most important, surprise must be added- they had been assigned as roommates to each other. 

;;;

A jock, a nerd, and a music prodigy walk into a room. It could be a joke, no?  
But, alas, it was the situation in which Arvid had landed.  
And surprisingly, it wasn’t all that bad.

Thomas had gone on a metaphorical journey of self-discovery his junior year of high school, firstly by reading a LOT of books and articles, secondly by talking to Actual People, and thirdly by plowing through every piece of Julia Child- related content he could find, and somewhere in the process he realized he could bake. And he LOVED it.  
Thomas’s near-incessant production of loaves of bread and pastries,, along with Peter’s constant quips and incessant kindness, made Arvid much less terrified than he could have been (which, Arvid being Arvid, was a whole lot). 

He leaned back in his rocking chair, drawing his crocheted woolen blanket tighter around him in the soft golden sunlight.  
And he realized, as he looked at his windowsill with his three darling succulents- Django, Fitzgerald, and Rosetta- that this felt like home.  
This felt like home in a way nothing had felt like home since he was 14 and laughed at by everyone he knew for being quiet, for being loud, for liking music, for his glasses, for his clothes, for his leg. This felt like home in a way he wanted to keep forever.  
His record player had been moved to the kitchen some weeks ago, and now he could hear faint strains of the Andrews Sisters through the door. Sunlight filtered through his grandma’s lace curtains (sent all the way from Strasburg, can you imagine?) and cast soft dappled shadows on the wooden floor.  
The scent of tomato sauce drifted through the apartment- Peter, probably, since Thomas preferred making breakfast. (something about the damn fire alarms going off whenever Peter attempted anything beyond stirring a pot)  
Arvid took off his glasses slowly and polished them on his sweater- it was soft enough to not hurt them. He put them back on and reached for his cup of tea, which had cooled considerably from its previous scalding state.  
And Thomas and Peter were calling him to lunch, and the Andrews Sisters had switched to Billie Holliday, and he was home.

Arvid admired his newly-painted leg- Thomas had painted the little flowers blooming up his calf and onto the prosthetic part of his thigh, a dark black against the coral background Thomas had painted on, a change from last week’s pale blue and yellow ochre, and the week before’s dark purple tree branches against a warm cream shade.  
The first time Thomas had painted Arvid’s leg (or seen it, for that matter), it had been... very awkward. 

Thomas had strolled into the kitchen, holding his brushes and a book on Dadaism.

He’d stopped short at the sight of Arvid’s leg, which was very not attached to its owner.  
He stammered something incomprehensible and turned an alarming shade of reddish-purple (pantone 2342C, Thomas would later say, laughing, at the photo Peter took from the kitchen). 

“Wh- i- you- that- ARVID??????????????????? Wh a t . . . is on the chair???????”

Arvid had looked up from his book (on the evolution from silent films to talkies), and gave Thomas a nervous smile.  
“Yeah, that’s uh- that’s my leg. I can get it off the chair if you want?”  
Thomas seemed to be processing a great deal of information all at once.  
“You- you TOOK IT OFF??? YOUR LEG??????”  
Arvid snorted.  
“Yeah- it’s a-”  
“BUT YOU TOOK IT OFF?”  
“Yeah, they- they do that”  
“HOW???????”  
And then, he realized. Arvid had only ever worn his leg with a sock over it. Thomas had probably thought that was a fleshy meat-leg.  
“Thomas. It’s a prosthetic. Look-”  
He grabbed his leg and pulled the sock off with a flourish.  
Peter, from the kitchen, burst into peals of laughter.  
Thomas blinked once, twice, and then did a little shake. He seemed to have regained some consciousness, or at least he didn’t look completely nonplussed.  
“I- that’s a fake leg????”  
“Yep”  
“CAN I PAINT IT????”  
“what.”  
“Only if you want to, it’s your- leg- but.. CAN I?”  
“Y- i… y- o-... what?”  
Thomas looked like a golden retriever let loose on a baseball diamond.  
Arvid smiled, befuddled.  
“I- sure???”

Peter snorted, loudly. 

...

Arvid gazed out the open window, a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders.  
he’d have to send his aunt’s wife (his... other aunt??) a thank you note for that one.  
Hmm. maybe, later, though.  
Right now was too cozy.

...

You know, Arvid had never really understood cuddling. The concept, that is.  
It always seemed impractical- too warm, too many variables, too many different personal preferences involved.  
But when Arvid woke up on the living room floor after a long night of studying, Thomas’ arm thrown around him, he realized he’d rather not get up at all. 

;;;

Midterms were approaching, FAST.  
The apartment was in a frenzy- Peter had consumed at least three full pots of coffee, Arvid was sitting on the couch (well, he was rather hanging from the couch- his feet were where one’s head would go were one a heterosexual), trying to read two books at once.  
Thomas was in fetal position on the table, crying as he recited names and dates under his breath. 

And then the doorbell rang.  
Thomas screamed and fell off the table, hitting his foot on a chair.  
Arvid slid off the sofa, his glasses ending up somewhere in the vicinity of Thomas’s foot.  
Peter looked up from where he was trying to dry off his coffee- soaked textbook. 

“This is homophobic,” muttered Thomas, and went to get the door.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway!!!!!!! there will hopefully be more added to this fic!! i hope y'all liked it!


End file.
